


Be Free, My Friend.

by Maximofftwintrash



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Assisted Suicide, Brainwashing, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Hydra (Marvel), I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Torture, Psychological Torture, Suicide, Torture, Waterboarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3996370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maximofftwintrash/pseuds/Maximofftwintrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is in pain. He is being punished. </p><p>She is the commander. </p><p>She is his savior. </p><p>He will be free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Free, My Friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Suicide, self harm, torture.,

He knows what is coming the moment he wakes.

Hands and ankles tied. No cloth brushing against skin but his sleeping shorts. The air hurt. The air was killing him. He cannot breathe. It is dark. It is heavy. And he knows what is coming.

“You disobeyed a direct order.”

No, no, no, no, no, not this. Not him. Not now, please please please.

His pleas do not reach his lips.

“You must be punished. Do you understand this?” German accent.

He knows. He knows what he was supposed to do. The man on the bridge was supposed to die. He was ordered to put a bullet in his brain.

In his heart.

Something bites into his arm, and he’s on fire, his shoulder, his back, his spine and his skull. It beats against his bones with deep, deep, too deep.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes, sir, yes sir, yes sir.” He gasps. Why can’t he see him? He can always see him. He always sees them while they hurt him. They want to know he is hurting.

Sometimes he thinks he likes it. Does he like it? Or do they like it?

“You disobeyed a direct order. I’m sorry. This hurts me more than it hurts you. I’m sorry they have to do this to you.”

He doesn’t want to get away. He knows better than that now. He knows better than to try to disobey them.

“The man on the bridge must die.”

“Yes, I’m glad you know that now, but that doesn’t change what you did.”

“The man on the bridge must die.” He is desperate now. 

“I’m sorry. You still have to be punished.”

He lets out a whimper.  

“You know what you did.”

Why can’t he see him? He wants to see him.

The cloth is put over his face. Someones fingertips brushed over his skin for the smallest of time frames. A click. A beat. No, shorter than a heartbeat. A pulse through his arm and the pain in his spine.

Water sloshes above him.

He wants to say he is sorry. He is sorry. He is so sorry. He wants to kill the man on the bridge now. He wants to complete the mission. He wants to make him happy. He wants him to be proud.

Drip-drip-drip.

The cloth soaks up the water. He takes a shuddering breath of air, fills his lungs as far as they can go, fills them so full he feels like he’s going to burst.  

His voice echoes. You need to be punished.

The water soaks the cloth. The cloth clings to his nose as he exhales, clings when he exhales, and the panic explodes in his chest. Protect. Live. Survive. Water slides down his throat, over his neck and into his hair, over his shoulders. So cold it burns.

He’s drowning. He’s dying. He’s suffocating.

Screaming. His throat hurts. There’s no air in his mouth, in his lungs. He can feel the water trickling into his nose. Can’t breathe. No air. No air. No air.

Убей меня. Держите заливки. Позволь мне умереть.

A door opens. A footstep. He wants to die. He can’t breathe past the panic in his chest. He is shaking. He is dying. He wants it to end.

Voices?

There are never voices. Not until he is punished. Not until he gives in.

“This is a very delicate procedure ma’am, you cannot just interrupt.”

“Do you know who I am?”  

Oh god, please keep pouring. Please. Please. Please. You can kill me right now.

“Ma’am, I must insist-”

“If you try to stop me again, I will put a bullet in your brain.”

The water flow pauses. He gasps. He sobs. He wants to die.  Noises overlap and voices are hushed.

The darkness is still complete. The cloth still covers his mouth and nose, and he clings to the water left in the strands. It would be so easy to die.

So easy to sleep.

He realizes he is sobbing, and his heart constricts in his chest when he realizes that the short, harsh sounds are coming from him. He will be punished for making noise. He will be punished for weakness.

Then it is gone. The cloth is gone. He is still in darkness, but now he can breathe, and his heart breaks. He can hold his breathe until he passes out. It wouldn’t kill him. He’d be punished.

And then the metal around his wrists are removed.

Confusion floods over him, then panic.

They’re taking him somewhere worse, and he knows it. His punishment wasn’t good enough. He has to show he is sorry.

He doesn't move, splayed out and cold and drowning, even after his restraints are removed. He knows he can move, but he has not been given permission to move. How can he move without instruction?

Something brushes against his face. He can smell flowers. He can smell sunlight.

Whatever was keeping him in the dark is removed, and he is staring at the ceiling. He glimpses a warm hand, red fingernails, scrap of black cloth.  

He still does not move. He stares at the ceiling. He is still drowning, and he can’t do a thing about it.

“You may do whatever you please for the entirety of this conversation.”

The voice is softer than his. He can hear sunlight through it. In it. He still doesn’t move.

“You can sit up if you would like.” She offers.

He hears it as an order, and immediately swings into a sitting position. His arm is heavy and his spine screams under the weight. Everything flares. Everything is on fire.  

She is standing above him. His superior. She is respected. _He_ did what she asked. She is commander.

He waits.

She lowers herself to the floor to be on his level. Looks in his eyes as an equal.

He is not stupid. He knows she is above him. He will not be tricked. He must keep his eyes straight.

No weakness.  

“Relax, please. I am not your commander.”

He forces his muscles to expand. He wants to obey. He cannot be punished again.

“Sit with me?”

She poses the order as a question, and he is not convinced. He moves to the floor and kneels, his feet tucked neatly beneath him. He does not look at her.

“What’s your name?”

“I do not have a name.” He replies in Russian.

“English please.” He can hear the smile in her voice, and he knows he will be punished.

“I do not have a name.” This time in English. Must obey.

“Steve called you Bucky.”  

The words mean nothing. He blinks. The light burns his eyes and makes them scratchy. He wonders if he would be punished for asking for darkness again. Darkness is comfort. He faces forward. He looks at her.

The woman in front of him crosses her legs and rests her elbows on her knees. Her eyes are not watery. Her skin is not pale. She looks whole.  

She is not like him.

“I do not have a name.” He repeats. He is trying  to appease her.

She looks at him. He cannot read her. He cannot see past her eyes. He thinks he sees pity. Love. Warmth. Love? He is confused. Love is for children. Love is not for the nameless.

She reaches into her jacket. He expects a punishment and closes his eyes. Braces himself.

Something clinks onto the concrete in front of him.

“These are yours.”

He opens his eyes.

A gun. A knife. A pill. A small round button.

He is confused and looks up at her.

“Who is the target?”

Now it is her turn to be confused. “There is no target. These are yours. Forever. Yours and yours alone. You may use them however you see fit.”

His left arm automatically reaches for the gun. He wants to press it to her forehead and kill her. He wants to shoot through the glass where he knows they are watching him.

He stops himself. Why kill her?

Why not kill himself? Why not sleep?

“Please choose carefully, друг. You may only use one for now.”

“Why?”  

“Because you deserve to choose.”

He looks at the items. The button is blue and red with a white star shining in the middle.  He dismissed that without a second thought. The knife would make _him_  upset. Blood to clean up. _He_ hated blood.  

“What is the pill?”

“Nothing.”

He looks up.

“There is nothing in the pill. The pill will keep you here. Nothing will change. You will continue as you are now.”

He lets his fingers close around the gun. He checks to see if it there are bullets. It is too heavy to be empty. There is one bullet.

He loads it.

He looks at her.

“Are you sure?”

“I want to sleep.”

She does not argue. She does not stop him. She does not give him a command.

“Бе бесплатно, друг” She whispers.

He nods.

He puts the gun at his head. Cool metal on hot skin.

 ** _HE_** slams into his cell. **_HE_ ** is furious.   ** _HE_ ** wants to stop him.

He smiles. No more punishments.

He pulls the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> Убей меня. Держите заливки. Позволь мне умереть. - Kill me. Keep pouring. Let me die.  
> друг - friend  
> Бе бесплатно, друг - Be Free, my friend. 
> 
> I need help.


End file.
